


Page By Page

by stubbornessissues



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:17:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubbornessissues/pseuds/stubbornessissues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CT needed just that one thing so that she knew where she was, it was her tether and all she had left of her family. It hung around her neck, weighty and forever a reminder of who she was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Page By Page

It was always there, a form of security really, that heavy weight that lay on her chest. She had it since she was young, could remember getting it, the last time she ever saw her mother, the beautiful, mousy brown braid that worked like a whip as it retreated through the door, and Connie buried herself in the embrace of her father. It was something real, tangible, physical. She knew it would always be there, her tether to the world in which they lived, the beautiful, painful, magical place that they all belonged.

And there was the problem, she had never belonged, always chose to be different. Throughout her whole life, little Connie had always veered away from the crowd; not because she was lonely, or without skills or the ability to make friends. She just chose to isolate herself. It was far easier than ever dealing with the pain of knowing someone one moment, not having a clue who they are the next. So she always kept her distance; wise and insightful, even as a child, was Connie.  
  
It meant something to her, that small blue charm she always wore about her neck. She would make sure it was there, always touch it, toy with the chain and twist it about her finger, just to make sure it was there. That she was there. If she ever began to hurt, all Connie knew was to whisper her secrets to all that remained of the remarkable women that was her mother. All she knew was to share with no one, yet tell to everything.   
  
“You’re doing it again.” It was a simple statement, the sort that could have easily been ignored. She did so. “Connie, you’re doing it again.”   
  
“You don’t need to keep telling me what I’m doing Washington.” Her voice was irritated, curt and sharp. She needed them to know she wasn’t in it for the long run; that little Connie wasn’t going to care for them, no matter how much they tried.  
  
“Or were you hired to become announcer of the obvious?” He backed down after that challenge, a muttered apology left as he rose to his feet. That was when she tugged her fingers away from the warmed chain, eyes eventually choosing to focus on something far more real than what happened to rush through the brunette’s mind. There was little point apologising; CT shook her head, as though a fly had poked at it.   
  
She hadn’t ever been all that in tune with reality when she was simply Connie. Magical worlds and spells, creatures that shouldn’t exist; they were each real to the young, lonely child. Books were her friend when she was little, her mother, well, she never did come back from the war. She could remember a little of daddy crying, wanting to make him feel better, only finding out that she didn’t know how. Her friends hadn’t ever taught her how to comfort someone. Not yet at least.   
  
“You’re doing it again.” She had the faintest feeling they had had this conversation before, recently. Same setting of the lounge, a gentle, evening like glow given off by the lights and an empty space entirely to themselves, yet again. “Connie, you’re doing it again.”   
  
She had always been taught, by her friends, that fate was fate and we all had a set ending to our lives, that moment when the pages ran out. It didn’t matter what she went with here.   
  
“I’ve told you hundreds of times to call me CT.”   
  
“You’re not a monster you know, you deserve a better name than two simple letters.” He left again, this time without muttering an apology, like she was sure he had done last time.

* * *

After the way she grew up, the things she had done as a child, the little brunette who grew very little, never felt she deserved a friend, yet she had found one. More than one. She had found a family here, a disjointed one, full of broken people, just like her.  
  
“Give me the fucking pudding North!” CT could hear the growl of the almost always pissed off blonde, reaching over her brother as she attempted reattain her dessert.   
  
“I think you need to learn some manners first.” York aided his friend, reaching over and plucking the pudding from North’s hand, having a better chance at keeping it from South, with thanks to his height. CT could only watch with something of bemusement, the look on South’s face as she plopped back into her seat, muttering something about how everyone aboard this ship was assholes.  
  
“Love you too!” The tan armoured man chuckled, tossing it to the fuming women, and standing up to dump his empty tray in its usual place. “You done Cee?” She wanted to hit him for the nickname, and that dumb smirk on his face that told her what he knew; he had won this one. It took a moment of exaggerated eye movements to get there, but eventually, she too rose from her seat, strolling gently beside York.   
  
He was an easy guy to be with, it’s why everyone liked him so much; he made it easy to talk. Some people were simply more complex books that only the lucky one’s could read. York wasn’t one of the lucky ones. She had caught him, more than once, watching her like a hawk; a proud, cautious older brother, trying to work out what manner of an alien the other was.   
  
“You’re staring again.” Was all she could say, voice irate.  
  
“You’re zoning out again. We can both point things out if we want to.” He just loved being a smart ass didn’t he?  
  
Family always cared about each other and stuck by one another whatever came for them, right? She was happy here, glad to finally have somewhere stable, somewhere to stop running and just enjoy the ride. She had only one hope with this trip; she didn’t get left behind yet again. Connie always hated that.

* * *

He got ill soon after she stopped calling. Heartache some said. Connie knew better. For all the love novels she had read, no one had ever died of heart ache. Some had killed themselves because they couldn’t bear the pain of it, but heartache was never a real cause of death. She had learned that from her science book too.   
  
She wanted  him to get better, of course she did. Connie didn’t like all the strange, new people, telling her what to do, where to be. She never stopped moving around, lost in the flurry of life far too early on. For hours she would sit beside that damn, clean bed of his, watching the life of him slowly slip away, dragging away with him, the life she could have had.   
  
Connie didn’t want to be alone. She was fine with being lonely, and without friends, but as they ushered the poor, little girl with her new, freshly pressed skirt into the front row of a church to look at a wooden box, the realization hit her. She burst into tears, tired, scared and just wanting him to come back to her. She regretted the words she had happily said to him, amid a smile with empty teeth. I don’t mind being lonely daddy. Which was true. She just didn’t want to be alone.   
  
That was when the habit started really. Her mother was still with her, Connie had to remember that. She tapped the blue little charm with her nail, eyes locked onto the new bed that her daddy had found. She tapped her mother’s arm, her waist, her leg. She continued to tap. On and on the noise went, and not a single soul had the heart to tell her to stop.  
  
_Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap_.  
  
It echoed about her, the beat of a constant drum.  
  
_Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap_.

* * *

 

Things had begun to get tense among the family filled with cracks and weak glue. The board had gone up, slipped out of place, and torn them all apart. CT had read books when she was younger, real books about real people and real things. She knew the signs to look for.   
  
None of the others had a clue. She would have to do all the work for them to fix this.  
  
She never did try hard enough.   
  
She began to slip up more and more, perhaps on purpose, because she never knew how to do anything else now. She fell, checked for the little blue charm, and then got back up. Her routine had become monotonous. She had always hated the pattern of life, wanted to break free and become a hero, just like in those books she read.   
  
That may have been what possessed her to do something about the inkling suspicions sitting in her mind. It was late, the others were all asleep, and she could slip away. There would be patrols, yes, but they were easy enough to avoid, that was what she had been trained in. Recon, that was meant to be her speciality. She ought to put it to good use then.   
  
It was surprisingly quiet, stars twinkled through the windows, and her breaths were all CT could hear as she took those first few, tentative steps towards the console to his office. The Director’s office. She never knew what the true word for it was, she wasn’t going to look it up for fear of destroying the illusion, but CT knew, as she tapped in the buttons, that something big was about to happen.   
  
She was about to set her fate in motion.

**Author's Note:**

> This is me playing with the character of CT and one of the headcanons that I have for her.  
> Her mother left to serve in the military when she was young, and fearful little Connie tugged at her leg and told her not to go. Her mother had promised she would come back, and gave the child the necklace as an insurance policy. It's the one thing that means the world which she is in, is real. She uses it as sort of tether to reality.


End file.
